A Picture is Worth A Thousand Memories
by braveleo5
Summary: Jack has a picture of Captain James Harper, and with it a thousand memories. Pairing: mentions of Jack/Jack which means slash, you have been warned.


Title: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Memories

Jack/Jack

Rating: K+ maybe T

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the sketch, "A Nightingale Sang in Barkley Square" belong to Nat King Cole

Summary: Jack looks at the picture of Captain James Harper before he goes up for that fateful practice flight, and looks at it again before he goes down.

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Captain Jack Harkness was walking along the streets of London in very early morning, all the while fingering a folded piece of yellow paper in his coat pocket.

A wind gently rustled his hair as he walked back to the airbase that he was stationed at, his eyes slightly glazed with the memories of the night before. Of a man who captured his attention and who showed him how to let go.

As he walked Jack hummed a tune that was played as he and the other man danced. The melody also brought forth the memory of the other captain kissing him and looking at him before he left with the Japanese woman.

It was still early enough out so that not a lot of people were out on the streets and those that were hardly spared a glance at the military man. The sun was starting to peek over the tops of houses and buildings all over London, its' rays also reaching the rubble that was left after the blitz last night.

He stopped as he spotted the building he was passing, his blue gaze holding a wistful look in them. Jack closed his eyes as though he were trying to recapture the events of the night before. The feeling of strong arms holding him, of slightly chapped lips moving against his, and the feelings of security and happiness.

The sound of a car startles him out of his reverie and he continues on his way with one last look over his shoulder at the Ritz dance hall. He reaches the barracks where he and his men are staying and changes out of his uniform and into his flight suit. He can hear the rest of his men getting up and getting ready for the day's practice flight as well.

He removes the folded paper from his coat pocket and puts it into a pocket on his suit; he grabs the rest of his gear and heads out to the hanger to prepare his plane. As he walks a few of the men who were also at the dance glance his way but they quickly redirect their looks elsewhere.

He arrives at the hanger and prepares what he need for the days flight and takes his plane out to the runway. The men that are going up with him for this practice session are also bringing their planes out to the runway, ready to take off after him.

As Jack sits in his plane waiting for his cue to take off, he brushes his fingers over the pocket in which the sketch is incased, deriving some comfort from its presence. As he waits a song goes through his head and he sings parts of the lyrics, letting the emotion it brings forth was over him.

"…there were angels dancing, at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Barkley Square…" The pilot sang softly, barely louder than a whisper.

After another minute he was given the all clear to take off. He starts his plane and takes off from the runway. As he goes up in to the air he gives instructions to the pilots who are also following him.

The practice session was going well, the formations were tight and everyone knew what they were supposed to do. They were surprised by a formation of Messerschmitz suddenly coming at them from a around cloud cover. He ordered his men to get away while he shot down three of them.

He whooped for joy as he turned his plane around to see where the other enemy planes were. He had a small grin on his face, but what he didn't notice was that another formation of Messerschmitz was coming up behind him.

He felt his plane jerk when the first round of bullets hit it. "Shit…," Jack hissed under breath, he could tell that the bullets had hit the tail of his plane and had barely missed his fuel tank.

He maneuvered his plane to try to get away from the German planes while at the same to try to get a visual on them as well. Another round of bullets hit his plane and a few of them managed to hit his fuel tank, not enough to make it explode, but it damaged the tank enough that if another one hit it, it would explode.

Jack knew he wouldn't survive this, and his consolation was that at least his men get away safely. His hand went down to the pocket which held the yellow paper, and he took it out.

He started to softly sing the song that was playing that night at the Ritz as he reverently held the paper. He gently unfolded it and looked at the picture that had been drawn in charcoal, the lines forming a handsome face that was grinning and a greatcoat that swirled around the body it was covering.

Jack lightly traced the picture with a gloved fingertip, losing himself in the memories and sensations and emotions. He looked up from the drawing to see that the ground was closing in and that he had maybe a minute before he crashed.

He looked back at the picture, and closed his eyes, imagining that he was back at the Ritz dance hall, dancing in the arms of the one man who should him he could be him self and to just follow his emotions. He imagined the other captain holding him, kissing him, caressing his face and neck.

Captain Jack Harkness, pilot and American volunteer, smiled and kept a hold on the sketch even as his plane hit the ground and his fuel tank exploded in a shower of fire and plane parts. The smoke rising up from the crash site.

Present day:

Jack Harkness, known to one man as James Harper, stood at the grave of the man whose name he had taken, and he just stood there reflecting on the people he has lost: Toshiko, Owen, the real Jack, and most recently Ianto. He loved the first two as though they were his own sister and brother, and he loved the last two more than anything.

The wind picked up and swept by Jack, ruffling his hair and his greatcoat, and if he listened he almost hear their voices laughing and smiling, but underneath it all, was a song, one that he hadn't heard since that night in 1941 at the Ritz dance hall.

"That certain night, the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air. There were angels dancing at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Barkley Square…"


End file.
